


rage and powerlessness

by Starfire (kalypsobean)



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Gen, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 13:12:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/Starfire





	rage and powerlessness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DestielsDestiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/gifts).



He wished, very strongly, that Bruce was not so paranoid. 

Some hypervigilance was a given, of course. He had seen Bruce through quite a lot, and not all of it was the kind of trauma that simply went away if left unacknowledged. It had been done like that when he was a boy, of course; keep a stiff upper lip, hide one's pain inside, where it isn't seen, where it won't affect one's reputation and business - do not show weakness. 

Having raised a small, scared boy into Bruce Wayne, he supposed he bore some responsibility for what that had come to entail. Yet, sometimes, he wondered whether if he had done something differently, things would have had quite the same outcome. He had signed on to attend a businessman, not to raise a child, and certainly not to watch as his charge courted death, again and again. 

No matter how well-armoured, Bruce came home with bruises and broken bones and a single-minded determination to save everyone but himself. If nothing else, Alfred had taught him selflessness. 

 

This was new, though, even for him; it bordered on recklessness, with an intensity that was not unusual, except in Bruce's singular focus. It was as if Gotham was no longer enough. as if the Kryptonian had wakened him to something larger, and Bruce chased after it like he was possessed.

If he were honest, Alfred would say he was concerned.

 

It did not take long for the nightmares to return, or for Bruce to fall back into the habit of wandering out alone, armoured, looking only for someone who would fight back. Alfred remembered the little things he did for Bruce, back when 'life fast die young' had been written on his draft for Bruce's tombstone, but even they only served, if anything, to make sure Bruce had food and the occasional in-home stitches.

 

 _That's enough,_ Alfred wanted to say, but he had said it enough before to know that it would only push Bruce forward, giving him a limit to push against until it broke.

 

Alfred had only agreed to cooperate with this whole Bat campaign because Bruce would have done it anyway; he wished, very strongly, that he had said no when he could still control Bruce, before he learned to pick his bedroom lock or smash the entire door down.

 

"I found another one," Bruce said. It was one of those nights, where Bruce had tried to sleep and failed, instead sitting at his computer and searching for something that didn't fit into the neat structure of an anomaly detection algorithm.

"Very good, very good," Alfred said. It might be, at least; even though Bruce had found several anomalies that were explainable and not a one that was not. "Perhaps you would like some clean clothes to celebrate?"

"I'm fine, Alfred," he said. Alfred waited. He couldn't be sure whether Bruce had noticed and not cared, or had failed to notice, but at some point, the blood would dry and not only would Bruce be much more uncomfortable, the robe would be more difficult to clean. Bruce looked down, and Alfred suspected the latter.

"Clothes would be great," Bruce said.

"Right away, Master Wayne," Alfred said, and placed a shirt and trousers on the keyboard. "And I'll come back with a new bandage."

It was a small thing, one of the few things that was left to him and not something he only did when Bruce could not do it himself. It was practical, of course; he could reach where Bruce could not, and had a rather more significant regard for Bruce remaining alive and intact. He also treasured it, because it showed that Bruce trusted him when he did not even trust himself. 

He wouldn't have been surprised to find Bruce asleep at the computer, the light flickering on his skin and one side of his face pressed against the keyboard, but he returned to find Bruce still awake, wearing the trousers and the shirt thrown over the chair.

"Look at this, Alfred," he said. It was some kind of security footage, a grainy top view of a store that Alfred felt he had seen a thousand times before.

"In a moment," Alfred said. He expected Bruce to insist, but there was nothing; Bruce paused the video and dragged the slider back, as if he was not aware of Alfred at all.

 

He sat in his own chair, and turned his attention to the wound; it had not reopened entirely, but it looked like the stitches had been pulled, and it was leaking. He sighed, and drew his chair in close, so that he could work without disrupting Bruce; he would prefer to have Bruce rest in a bed, once in a while, or even in the main house, but he prided himself on winning many small battles instead of only a few large ones, and it is the small things that mattered.

It is the small things that Bruce always noticed.

Cleaning the wound did not take long; it had only been a small gash, though only because the knife had snagged on a seam, and the armour had absorbed a hit prior. Alfred was not sure that he had the whole story, though as the blade had not been poisoned, he didn't need all the details, nor was he sure he wanted them, even now. 

"Look, Alfred," Bruce said, just as Alfred finished taping a new pad over the area. "He's there, and he's gone, and then he's there. Just like that."

Only then did Alfred look properly at the footage. 

"It could be edited," he said. "Someone could have stopped the camera, or altered the image."

"Everything else is consistent," Bruce said. "The timestamp doesn't skip numbers or loop. And see, here," Bruce paused the video and pointed. "The shadows match." 

Alfred had to lean in and squint, but it did look as if the two figures were casting shadows at the same angle. 

"I'll run an integrity analysis in the morning," he said. Bruce always liked to be sure, and that was another thing Alfred did; he worked on this while Bruce was out and about, maintaining his public image.

Alfred would also like Bruce to take a holiday, but he gave up on that idea long ago; he would settle for something small, like one night without waiting at home in case Bruce did not come back.

"I'll start it now," Bruce said. 

"In the morning," Alfred said, and put his hand on Bruce's wrist. "You do have to attend the Foundation luncheon in six hours." It would not do for Bruce to turn up with a stiff back and blood leaking from his side yet again; not when even looking slightly tired made the social section of the paper and led to requests for interviews and cameramen in the bushes. 

Bruce looked at him for a moment, his eyes dark and his jaw set, as if he was ready to head out again.

"I'll go," he said. Alfred nodded. 

"Very good, Master Wayne," he said. He waited.

"After I finish this." Bruce lifted his arm, shaking off Alfred's hand, and began to type.

"Excellent," Alfred said. "I don't suppose you'll be wanting breakfast, then."

"Breakfast would be great, Alfred," Bruce said. 

 

Alfred wished, very strongly, that Bruce was not so paranoid, that things could wait for reasonable daylight hours, and Bruce would do what he was told at least once a week.

He pulled the power to the cave as he left, then he went to bed.


End file.
